


Psychosocial

by Cunninglinguist



Category: Hannibal (TV), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood and Gore, Bodily Fluids, Crossover, Daryl loves Rick, Drama, Everyone Is Gay, Gay Sex, Graphic Description, Hannibal Loves Will, Hannibal loves the ZA, Hannibal's man-bun, M/M, Multi, Murder Kink, Possessive Hannibal, Smut, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Zombie Apocalypse, bearded hannibal, level of gay: hella, scruffy murder husbands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 06:25:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7157246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cunninglinguist/pseuds/Cunninglinguist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in The Walking Dead universe, Hannibal and Will are posted up in Georgia during the zombie apocalypse. Once they cross paths with Rick Grimes' gang, mayhem (and a lot of gayness) ensues. //TEMPORARILY ON HIATUS//</p>
            </blockquote>





	Psychosocial

_“See? Aren’t you glad that we went with the ceramic?”_

_“I don’t see how it makes any difference, Hannibal. I’m just…glad that you’re so happy with it.”_

_“Of course I’m pleased with it. In any case, all of this would have been far more difficult to clean were this a natural stone floor.”_

_“Okay, I believe you. This is exactly why I let you take care of the bathroom renovations. I don’t know what difference it would have made if we had picked travertine, or linoleum, or—“_

_“I would have never chosen a linoleum.”_

 

The tinkling sound of a straight razor on the rim of the sink pulled Will from his thoughts.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” said Will, opening one bleary eye. His lover smiled at him, the skin around his eyes crinkling up sweetly as he deftly swirled the razor blade through the water. 

“I know,” replied Hannibal, furrowing his brow and returning to his task.  
Will had always had a beard, or at least stubble, before it happened. Now, whenever his beard got too big and too wild, Hannibal had taken to shaving him clean, only for it to grow shaggy and bushy within two weeks’ time. But Hannibal liked it, and Will humored him. He guessed it was more about the ritual than the result. After all, he had no idea when they’d be able to get razors again, so, he might as well just roll with it while he could. The last time he’d glanced into the box where Hannibal kept the razor blades, Will had only seen two. 

Hannibal had been letting his stubble and beard grow out longer and longer each time. Initially, this had been shocking to Will; before it happened, Hannibal had never allowed himself to get even the slightest bit stubbly, even if Will had teasingly begged him to grow out his five o’clock shadow. Now, times were different, and both he and Hannibal had to adapt to life without certain creature comforts to which they had both become accustomed.

“All done,” said Hannibal, smiling softly at Will. He had a messy grey beard that accented his jaw line sweetly, and his hair had grown out so much that a few lovely strands swept across his forehead. One day, Will imagined, they would forego all care for razors and scissors and just grow out their beards and hair and become wild looking men. He chuckled a bit at the thought.

“I love to see you smile,” said Hannibal, reaching behind him to grab the ancient bottle of aftershave. It was nearly finished, Will noticed, as Hannibal unscrewed the cap and banged the opening against the heel of his hand, straining to get the remainders of the product out. It was Hannibal’s expensive, nice smelling aftershave, a relic from life before that had been rationed beyond belief.

“Hmm,” said Will. “I think our shaving rituals will be done for good when that bottle runs out.”

Hannibal hummed in agreement as a small blob of transparent goo rolled into the palm of his hand. He rubbed it briefly between his hands before gently applying it to Will’s newly shaven face. “It was only a matter of time.”

Will winced slightly as the cooling substance made contact with his sensitive skin. He tried to savor the sensation, knowing that their foray into the feral would only get worse as time passed. He remembered when the basement in their house had still been fully stocked, replete with canned and fresh goods alike, thanks to Hannibal’s affinity for cooking as well as his propensity for being overly prepared.

Now, Will wasn’t certain how much longer they’d be able to stay in their house, in their quiet little Georgia cabin. The sounds of the undead filled the yard, getting louder and louder by the night. The food was dwindling, the passers by had gone from many, to scarce, to none, and Hannibal had been surreptitiously evaluating their supplies and hinting to Will that they may soon be on the run.

Will couldn’t say he was surprised, although thinking about leaving their quiet little country cabin made his heart skip a beat unpleasantly. They’d moved from Baltimore to just outside Atlanta not a year ago, at Will’s behest upon his early retirement from the FBI. 

Hannibal rose from where he was seated, perched across from Will on the edge of the bathtub, and stretched his arms overhead dramatically, groaning as his bones cracked. He bent to give Will a quick kiss on the head, his own beard scratching Will’s forehead slightly, before picking up his double barrel shotgun from the bathroom floor.

“I’m going to check the perimeter,” he said, not bothering to redo the buttons on his flannel shirt that had come undone, exposing the sweaty grey undershirt beneath it.

They’d fortified the perimeter, and it had been breached, and they had refortified it, and it had been breached…over and over and over again, by both the living and the dead. Those living people who had breached the barriers had been presented with a choice, depending on their behavior…were they overly rude, panicked, or demanding, Hannibal would do what he had always done best, with Will’s help, and the couple would have food for days. Were they relatively reasonable and polite, Hannibal and Will would let them pass, only for them to inevitably suffer the wrath of the undead that lurked beyond their perimeters, deep in the woods around them.

The dead had not breached the barriers beyond the point that they needed to repair it, yet, but they came closer and closer to it each night. Will’s stomach twisted in anxiety as he rose to peer through the slats that boarded up the second story windows to see a small crowd of the walking dead approaching their fence, their soft, foul bodies impaled on the spiky booby traps around it. He didn’t know what time it was precisely, only that it must have been early mid-morning based on the sun’s position in the sky. He swallowed thickly as he saw Hannibal taking his lap around the house, pitchfork in hand, as he surveyed the ever-growing pile of twitching, groaning bodies. Will gnawed on his lip. 

“Will.” Hannibal’s voice was slightly elevated in pitch, his tone urgent, when he returned inside. He’d removed the flannel shirt, leaving his grey wife beater stained with sweat and thick, stinking blood of the undead. Sweat poured from his face, and his eyes were wild, almost panicked, but not quite. “I don’t think we can stay here much longer.”

Will closed his eyes, letting the news and his fear wash over him. “Where would we go?” he asked quietly, his tremulous voice betraying his emotions.

Hannibal inhaled deeply, meeting Will’s eyes. “We could try the prison. It is not far, and we’ve walked there many times before now.”

Will’s eyes widened. “The prison? Hannibal, what if it’s overrun? If the undead are coming here, chances are the prison is already done. It’s an all you can eat brains buffet over there, except for when the food runs out.”

Hannibal shifted his weight, putting his hands on his hips, and nodded. He huffed and tried to blow the errant strands of hair from his forehead. “ We would have to leave while it’s still light, and we’d have to run.”

“God,” said Will, lowering his eyes to the grimy floor. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“We don’t have to go quite yet,” said Hannibal in a soothing tone, reaching out to stroke Will’s arm affectionately. “We won’t leave until it is absolutely imperative. I’m not pleased about the number of undead things knocking at our door, Will, and I want you to be prepared for the worst.”

Crestfallen, Will nodded. He tried his best to mask how horrified and anxious he was at the prospect of not only leaving their home indefinitely (most likely forever), but also of meeting the other kinds of people that were out there. They had crossed paths with a fair amount of people, during missions into town, missions in to the woods, to the stream, and of course, when people crossed their path, but this would be quite different. They would be completely vulnerable and at the mercy of the people who were in the prison, if there were any living people in there at all.

Chilled beads of sweat gathered on Will’s brow as his heart raced at his own thoughts. He and Hannibal were no small force to be reckoned with, but leaving their home would mean leaving their protective walls behind. He was confident that they could take out a small group of people with fairly little warning, but they’d never had to do that on another’s turf before.

“Will.”

Will had become quite the dead eye shot since the world went to shit, and though he still struggled with his empathy disorder, he was no stranger to making a quick decision about whether or not someone was worthy of living or dying at his hand. And Hannibal…well, Hannibal was as ruthless as ever. He was certainly no stranger to killing, and to enjoying killing, and Will rather thought that the once refined and clean cut doctor fit in outrageously well in their feral new world; a world without three piece suits and fancy presentation, without social graces and operas and the FBI, without plush sheets and luxurious showers and fireplaces. 

“Will.”

Will blinked rapidly. “I don’t want to know who else is out there. I just want things to stay the same. You, me, here. Home. Just us against everything else.”

Hannibal’s eyes softened. He pulled Will close to his body and planted a dry kiss to his forehead. “I know. So do I.”

Will looked up and Hannibal, attempting to mask the vicious waves of mournful anxiety that crashed mercilessly over him. Hannibal’s hesitance and nerves rippled through Will’s body, and he understood that neither of them wanted to leave, but it had to be done. They would no longer be safe here. It was only a matter of time.

“Hannibal,” whispered Will hoarsely, desperately craving the feeling of being alive. He’d broken out in a light sweat from either fear or heat. “Take me to bed?”  
Hannibal’s arms tightened around Will. “Of course.”

 ***************************************************************

“God,” gasped Will, climbing off of Hannibal and flopping onto his belly on the sweat-soaked sheets. Hannibal curled behind him, panting hotly against his shoulder and pressing little kisses up his neck as Will struggled to regulate his heart rate by breathing deeply.

“Hannibal,” reminded Hannibal teasingly, his voice thick with lust. 

“Dick.” Will playfully swatted Hannibal’s arm. “That was so fucking good,” he sighed, his arm hanging limply over the side of the bed. 

“You were remarkable.” Hannibal nuzzled Will below his ear, his beard scratching Will’s hot, sweaty flesh. 

Will laughed breathily in pleasure, closing his eyes and leaning gently into Hannibal’s loving post-coital ministrations. His laughter quickly became a moan as he felt two of Hannibal’s questing fingers between his cheeks, swiping over his stretched hole to collect the semen that had dribbled out and gently push it back inside.

“You are mine,” whispered Hannibal into Will’s ear. “I will never let anyone take you from me. I will kill them all.”

Will’s heart skipped a beat before clenching in his chest. The very tips of Hannibal’s fingers rubbed just inside Will’s pliant body.

“I am inside of you,” he continued, pushing his fingers deeper. “And you are inside of me. You and I will never be parted, I don’t want you to worry about that.”

“Christ,” sighed Will, his brow furrowed and his heart aching.

Hannibal’s fingers slipped from his body and Will whined at the loss. “Did you hear that?” asked Hannibal in a hushed tone. Will huffed, turning his face into the mattress as Hannibal quickly slipped out of bed, pulling on soft grey sweatpants and grabbing the binoculars on the nightstand and the double barrel shotgun that was propped beside it. 

“Was just the biters,” groaned Will, rolling over onto his other side only to be greeted by Hannibal’s hand urgently gesturing for him to be quiet as he peered, wide eyed, through the slats on the window. Fear tingled in Will’s chest and he sprang from the bed, not bothering with clothing before joining his lover at the window.

Hannibal wordlessly handed Will the binoculars. After a brief moment of fumbling with the focus, Will’s eyes widened as they swept over the vision that Hannibal had seen moments before: a man and a woman emerging from the forest, armed to the teeth with what appeared to be a crossbow and a sword, respectively. Some of the straggling biters that had swarmed their home had begun to notice the intruders’ presence, and the duo was taking them out with alarming precision, fighting in tandem, moving together with agility and nonverbal communication that reminded Will a great deal of the way that he and Hannibal fought and killed together. 

Stunned, Will turned to Hannibal, who met his inquisitive glance with an equally questioning look. It had been well over three weeks since any living being had crossed onto their property, and well over two months since any living being had emerged from that forest. 

“What do you think?” asked Will, bringing the binoculars back up to his eyes so he could watch the newcomers encroaching further and further onto their property. Lust for blood began to simmer right below his surface. He desired to see what these people were made of, literally and figuratively. 

“I think that we are going to have a proper meal again very soon.” Hannibal walked over to the dresser and calmly opened the top drawer, revealing the stash of ammunition therein. He loaded the shotgun before opening a second drawer, where Will’s pistol was stashed. He checked it before unceremoniously declaring, “Still loaded.”

“These people look like they know what they’re doing,” commented Will, squinting. The man had just three arrows and a wicked looking blade. As he shot the undead, he ran and retrieved each of his arrows, pulling them effortlessly from rotting skulls before he deftly reloaded and used them again. He turned and twirled and ran and ducked, adeptly deciding between using his bow and using his knife at each rapid-fire encounter with an undead thing. The woman was slightly ahead of him, her long locks flying behind her as she dexterously sliced and diced the heads of those who were no longer living.

“They are going to want our home,” said Hannibal, stuffing the pistol down the front of his sweatpants and shrugging on his plaid flannel shirt, leaving it unbuttoned, exposing his intimidating strong, defined, silver curl-covered chest.

“Our things.” He picked the shotgun up and moved rapidly towards the nightstand, picking up his own knife before striding out the bedroom door.

Will set the binoculars down before hurriedly pulling on a pair of Hannibal’s pajama pants, grabbing the other pistol from the drawer, and rushing after his lover. 

Hannibal’s entire being burned with ferocity and ill will as he stood in the old dining room, looking through the window, watching the unfortunate newcomers steadily approaching their fence and, by extension, their front door.

Will could hear muffled voices over the din of undead groans, indicating that their unexpected guests had arrived at the fence. Hannibal lifted his gun, setting the heavy barrels against his shoulder as he moved towards the front door, making eye contact with Will.

“Sniper rifle,” he breathed. 

Will nodded rushed upstairs.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright y'all, this is an experiment (I've never posted an unfinished WIP before). This is just the beginning-tell me what you think with comments and/or kudos. I am still writing this monstrosity, and will do my best to update it as regularly as possible. 
> 
> Title comes from the Slipknot song of the same name (because those lyrics are Zombie Apocalypse!Murder Husbands AF, fight me). 
> 
> Come chat with me about these ridiculous bloodthirsty gays and many other things on [Tumblr](http://hannibalssweaters.tumblr.com/).


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